Midnight Bounties 4 - Chapter 43

“Ragul,” I said. “The usual, please.” I looked over to my side where Arstemion was burning a hole into my chair at the bar. I didn’t want to say anything. I’d make new chairs. I had time now.

Nobody even gave the demon general a look. As his legions chased the Quinta north, Sankta Varathians returned to what they did best, celebrate, drink, and cheat each other out of paying for said drinks.

The drow vampire poured me a whiskey, and I gestured for the demon general to lean over. As he did, I lit my cigar on the flames coming out his nostrils.

“Thanks,” I said, puffing out a waft of smoke.

“Humiliating,” Arstemion muttered then took a sip of moonshine and grimaced. “Is this what you serve here, mortal?”

“Aye.”

“I had flaming acid that went down easier.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” I said, spinning around to face my club.

The Midnight Bounties was packed full again. The butler units with Butlee at the helm were buzzing about the ground floor carrying trays to terribly drunk customers of all races while Hezzak and Fey sat in the lounge laughing with Rot, Spif, and Pearl. I gave everyone a few days off, everyone except Ragul of course because he dreaded the very idea. Fusha was dancing alone with Spif on the platform and for good reason. After the fight, the orc mommy was absolutely killing it. Something about bloodletting on a massive scale just gave her that push to go all out creatively. The island sisters and drogna sat at the podium drinking and cheering her on with the other customers. Wortimus was sitting surrounded by orcs and drinking himself stupid. He had garnered massive respect among the green fellows during the battle and they kept buying him drinks all day and night.

A large orc bumped against me and then plunged into the bar, shaking it. He slammed his fat hand against the counter, raising his voice.

“Drinks for everyone!” He turned his still bloody face to me. “The fucking boss!”

“Targa,” I nodded. “You good?” The orc chief was barely alive. After days of brutal fighting, he and his clansmen drank through most of the night and the following morning.

“When Mok’fera, Frank? It must be biggest ever! We must grief hard and long for fallen brothers and sisters.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Soon.” I had that one coming and truth be told I was fearing the idea of it more than facing another Quinta army. The orcs had died in the thousands and the Mok’fera in their honor would probably kill just as many. It had to be done, though. There was no question about it, but it had to wait. There were still some loose ends to tie up.

Targa walked around me and slung his thick arm around Arstemion’s shoulders.

“Demon,” he barked into the general’s face. “Your kind fight good.”

“Uh-huh,” Arstemion muttered. I didn’t think a demon, let alone a greater demon general, could feel uncomfortable but there it was.

“One day orc and demon fight! It will be a great war. Better than this!” I watched Arstemion’s reaction carefully. There was a glimmer in his flaming eyes.

“Don’t say that twice, Targa,” I grinned.

“So, Arstemion,” Tyfus said, sitting next to his beloved. “How long are your demons going to run around our city? You know it’s hard to bring back all the refugees when your kind is still around.”

Arstemion offered him a flat expression then looked at me.

“What?” I said. “It’s a fair question.”

“Can’t we enjoy the spoils of war for a day?” the general asked with a joking undertone.

“What spoils? You only care for blood and death and I’ve given you plenty of it.”

“We were thinking,” the demon said and I groaned. Nothing good would come from a thinking demon. “Why not chase the Quinta back to their homeland. We could destroy them entirely. Their army is no threat, but they have cities and towns we could destroy making sure they never come back.”

“That wasn’t the deal,” I said, my voice turning icy.

“What do you have to lose?” Arstemion said. “We would finish the job for you. My demons would get a good taste of blood and—”

“I’m not going to let you massacre an entire nation for fun.”

“It’s not for fun,” The general claimed.

“Don’t give me that shit, Arstemion. Of course it is. Don’t act like you’d do it for anyone but yourself. I don’t want that on my conscience. The Quinta are in ruins. Without their leader, their empire will fall to civil war sooner than later. I don’t think they’ll be much of a threat any time soon.” Arstemion sunk into his giant shoulders. He finished his moonshine and stood, brushing his horns against the club’s ceiling. The chair he sat on was charcoal black.

“Think about it, God Slayer.”

“I won’t. I want your kind out of here as soon as possible. Remember my promise, demon.”

Arstemion grinned.

“Let’s finish up,” he said.

I downed my whiskey and got up as well then slapped my hands together. Spif strung his lyre, looking in our direction.

“Listen up, the boss has something to say!” he yelled and all eyes turned towards the bar.

“Who’s in the mood for a hanging?” I yelled and the whole club cheered in excitement.

Mugs flew through the air or were shattered against the wooden floors. Moonshine was spilled in the gallons and Wort roared like a wild beast which made the orcs thump their chests and roar with him.

People pushed out of the Midnight Bounties and into the swarmed Ashpit. The entirety of Sankta Varath was there. The limping First, most of what remained of the orcs, the guild, and clan leaders of all surviving factions, the surviving citizens, the few nobles who remained in the city and lo and behold, the blackhelms and their boss, Winston Hightop, who stopped me halfway to the improvised gallows in the center of the square.

“I want a word,” he said, surrounded by six of his men.

“You do, don’t you?” I said coldly.

I knew many of the blackhelms had joined with the First when it had counted, but a good portion including the Lord Commander had vanished entirely.

“I know everyone thinks you a hero now,” he said through his thick moustache. “Don’t let it get to your head, Frank. You still have crimes to answer for. Once this whole charade is done, I want you—.”

“Winston,” I said, intentionally skipping his title and landing a hand on his shoulder. “You look good. Healthy, well rested.” I turned around to Arstemion, Targa, Tyfus and all the other exhausted and drunk warriors who saved the city.

“Doesn’t he look great? His men, too? You, son,” I said nodding at one of his blackhelms. “Have you seen much fighting lately?”

The blackhelm couldn’t hide his discomfort. Especially when all the weathered defenders of the city were eyeing him.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” Winston Hightop said, pushing my arm away. “I’m still the Lord Commander of the City Watch and you’re nothing but a kingslayer who will answer for his—”

“You’re the Lord Commander?” I said and laughed. “You? I don’t think so. You know what you are? A deserter.”

I said, snapping the City Watch pin from his chest. Winston’s face froze in shock.

“Take them to the gallows, lads. Once we handle the Emperor, we’ll finish the night off with these cowardly bastards.”

Targa grabbed the Lord Commander by the hand while several soldiers of the First who stood in the vicinity surrounded the remaining blackhelms.

“Frank, no! You can’t!”

“Hold on,” I said. “I changed my mind.” Winston let out a breath of relief. “I don’t want to begin a new chapter with more death. We had enough of it. Winston Hightop, you’re stripped of your duty and title. All your wealth and estates now belong to the city. You, blackhelms, you’re fired. Go home. Find your wives and children, you useless cowards.”

“Frank!”
            “Move aside, citizen,” I said. “Before I change my mind again.”

Targa let go of the former commander then snarled at him threateningly. Hightop mumbled something to himself but didn’t dare to say it out loud. His life was on the line and he knew it. The people around us weren’t too happy with the decision to let a snake like him get away with it, but they respected my word.

I was no king, I wasn’t even a noble, but I had the ear of every Sankta Varathian who’d been here since the siege. Hightop was just the first of many to come. The nobles who left the city would return to find nothing left of their previous lives. I would not let deserters reap the rewards of our spilled blood.

I moved to the gallows with most of my family and commanders in tow. Stein was there leaning on a crutch and waving at us.

The gallows were just large enough for several mages and druids to stand on alongside with Garret and Shieldmother. The Quinta Emperor was chained in place, but even with a single arm and beaten badly, it took a lot of magic to keep him down.

I didn’t climb the gallows, but moved to the first few rows and found a nice spot for me and my family.

“Frank, Seldon said you should come up here. What are you doing down there?” Derek said from atop the wooden platform. He had earned the rank of Major which he wore proudly. I was proud of him, too. He had come a long way since his days in the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. Well, I guessed we all had. 

“I’m good here, Derek,” I said.

“Frank, what the hell? Everyone expects you up there,” Tyfus barked.

“I don’t care what everyone expects. I’m done. Now go on, hang the bastard already.”

Derek took up a position next to Seldon Wey Stoneford, the former King’s Voice and whispered into his ear. Seldon frowned then shrugged his shoulders after which he finally stepped up to the kneeling Emperor of the Quinta.

“My good people of Sankta Varath,” he began. “This is a day of both celebration and great sadness. Yet it is also a day of justice. Today we—”

“Where’s Frank!” someone behind us yelled.

“Yeah! We want Frank to speak!”

“Frank! Frank! Frank!” they demanded.

Seldon tried to calm the angry Varathians but they weren’t having it.

“Just go up there,” Fey said. “One last time and you’re done.”

“That’s what you think. Today it’s this, tomorrow they’ll want me to make laws and whatnot.”

“Well, would that be so bad?” she asked.

“Yes,” I snapped. “Of course it would. I didn’t do all of this shit just so I can work myself into an early grave.”

“Master Frank,” Ragul finally said. He was wearing a wide hat that shaded his entire body so the sun wouldn’t harm him although he was already starting to steam. “It would be prudent for you to step up at this time. There is nobody else that fits the role and if you don’t, lesser men will.”

I looked at the vampire for a drawn-out moment, thinking about his words as the crowd cheered my name.

“Fine,” I muttered. “You go back to the club when this is done, though. I don’t want you catching flames after everything, Ragul.”

The vampire nodded and I headed up to the gallows to a round of applause and cheers, but the view of the square took my breath away for a moment.

 The Ashpit was brimming with Varathians of all forms and sizes among which our banners flapped proudly in the wind. So many people of so many walks of life surrounded the statue of King Varyn which was now just a molten rock on which orc kids sat eating oily pigeon legs and laughing.  I can’t say it didn’t fill my heart to see them all after everything we’d been through. Ogres stood tall among the silver armors of the First. Orcs and goblins mingled between elves and dwarves and gnomes. Sardak stood watching shoulder to shoulder with Slater fish-people though the two races hated each other. It suddenly wasn’t difficult to find the right words.

“What I see before me is Sankta Varath,” I said, and the people cheered and wooed. “Here I see Sardak and Slater stand together. Two races that hate each other passionately. Well…” I fumbled for the words suddenly. “Well, that might be unfair. Every race hates one another passionately.” I cleared my throat as a soft, confused murmur broke through the people.

“What I meant to say is, we don’t just hate other races, we hate people within our own race too.”

“Frank?” Seldon whispered behind me with a worried tone.

“And that is good,” I continued. “I mean it’s not good, but it’s our way. It’s the Sankta Varathian way!” A lukewarm applause washed over the crowd.

“For even if we hate each other, we still stood united and proved that we could see beyond that hatred!” The

 mood picked up somewhat after that and I just knew I was on the right track.

“Because as much as we hate one another, we hate those who would stop our way of life even more! Those who would not let us hate each other in peace!”

“Fuck yeah!” someone yelled.

“Fuck the Emperor!” another cried as the applause and cheers spread through the sea of Sankta Varathians. I felt sweat drenching my shirt, and I had just changed clothes like an hour ago but it was worth it. I wasn’t one for fancy optimistic speeches once the fighting was over. It was easier for me to persuade an army to go die than to sum up a nice couple of words about my city. In any case, the worst part was over and I didn’t intend to stretch it out too much either.

“So anyway,” I said. “Let’s hang the Emperor!” A storm of approving voices thundered through the Ashpit accompanied by loud applause.

I walked up to Paul Smith, the Emperor of the Quinta, pushed my hand through the arcane chains, and grabbed him by the collar. He didn’t weigh all that much as I lifted him.

I grabbed the noose behind him and let him climb the stool Derek put out so I could tie the rope around his neck. I wasn’t really sure hanging him would work, but I had Traitor and Mercy at the ready in case it took too long.

“Alright you old bastard, any last words?” I asked.

The Emperor snorted and gave me a tired look then turned to face Sankta Varath.

“I feel sorry for you people…” he said and coughed. “For you will live in ignorance eternally. All thanks to this man.” He went silent suddenly and so did the crowd until someone yelled.

“Fuck yeah! Frank’s the man! I don’t want to know shit!”

“I know too much anyway! All hail Frank!” another yelled and many more voices joined in and agreed. I shrugged as the Emperor gave me a horrified look.

“That’s Sankta Varath, pal. Anyway, is that it? Are you done?” I asked.

The Emperor didn’t answer.

“Right, off you go,” I said, kicking the chair from under him. The rope snapped tight, but his neck didn’t break. He choked there for a while. Not too long either. I guess he didn’t even try to resist it.

“Better to go off with some dignity, huh?” I whispered, suddenly feeling a pang of relief wash over me. Things could have gone the other way just as easily had he played it smarter.

My Deeproot chimed as all life finally left him.

[CONGRATULATIONS, YOU HAVE LEVELED UP!]

[SPELLMONGER LEVEL: 99]

[You have gained +20 STAMINA stat]

[You have gained +20 STRENGTH stat]

[You have gained +20 AGILITY stat]

[You have gained +20 INTELLECT stat]

[CONGRATULATIONS, YOU’VE REACHED THE MAXIMUM LEVEL! WE HOPE YOU HAD FUN!]

I swiped the words away, somewhat annoyed at the last sentence. They hoped I had fun? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? They didn’t even care to give me something other than more stat increases in the end. What a downer. Fucking Faydar.

“Bah,” I muttered as the Emperor’s lifeless body swayed next to me.

“What now?” someone from the crowd yelled as the cheers died down.

“Now I’m going home,” I said and jumped off the gallows to a confused crowd.

“What a speech, I’m tearing up,” Tyfus mocked me.

I grinned. Not even the gnome was going to sour my mood with his little insults.

“I need a drink,” I said, putting my arm around Fey and looking up at Arstemion.

“You ready to leave, big guy?” I asked.

“You would not invite us to the celebrations?”

I sighed, giving him a hard look.

“Fine, go at it. Don’t kill and destroy anything. Drink, sing, dance and then you’re off to hell come morning. Got it?”

“As you command, God Slayer.”

“As I command, demon.”